


Bedtime Stories

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anxiety, COVID-19, Comfort, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, Pandemic - Freeform, Storytelling, Tigers, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24011062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: When Sherlock is focused on work, nothing else penetrates his attention. This, it appears, includes a global pandemic. However, when the uncertain reality hits him, John is there to provide some unexpected comfort.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	1. Sherlock Wakes Up to Reality

**Author's Note:**

> We're back!
> 
> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. We've got quite a few stories, and we invite you to get lost in them.
> 
> Stay safe, everyone. Thanks for reading and for being a great community!

It had been a good week. Sherlock and John had been steadily doing research with occasional sleep in between (well, John had slept on behalf of both of them, Sherlock had decided). They had found what Mycroft had asked for, and last night after John had gone to bed, Sherlock had checked John’s notes and sent everything through. 

This meant that, finally, Sherlock could go to sleep. Fall to sleep, to be more precise. The minute he’d hit Send, the adrenaline that had kept him wired started to dissipate, and he moved like a zombie, closing up his laptop and making his way to the toilet. By the time he got into his room, he crashed onto the bed, fully dressed, and functionally dead to the world.

Eventually he woke up. He could see that it was dark out, but wasn’t sure what time it was. Or what day it was, to be honest, as his post-case sleeps sometimes lasted ridiculously long.

He grabbed his phone. It was Friday, which meant John had gone back to work this morning, and there was a good chance he wasn’t home right now. He’d probably gone out for a pint with Sarah and the other doctors or maybe he was out on a date – Sherlock had a vague memory of John complaining about having to cancel one the day Mycroft’s request had come through. Sherlock actually hoped John was out, so he’d be able to get up and drag himself back into the real world on his own schedule. He stretched and sat up. Then a crash came from the kitchen. His body tensed instinctively, but then he heard John curse. He was momentarily relieved it wasn’t an intruder before getting annoyed that he’d have company first thing after waking up. 

Unless he went out . . . then he could be on his own for a bit. Well, not on his own exactly, there’d be people on the street, but they’d be busying themselves with their own lives and would give Sherlock space. Which is what he needed right now, at least for a short time. This had nothing to do with John – to be honest, Sherlock was surprised to find how much he’d liked being with John since they’d started living together. But Sherlock still liked being alone, especially after such a long sleep. He stood up and decided not even to bother changing out of his slept-in clothes. He opened his bedroom door and walked stridently to the door to slip on his coat, calling, “I’m going out!”

John looked up from the kettle when Sherlock called out. "Very funny," he said. Then he realised Sherlock was actually heading for the door with his coat. He hurried over and blocked Sherlock's path to the door. "You're not leaving this flat, Sherlock. You can't." 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I won’t be long,” he said. “I’m just going to Bart’s . . . for Molly. Yes, Molly called.” He swung his scarf around his neck and moved to leave.

"You're definitely not going to the hospital, Sherlock. Coat off -- you're not leaving," John said more firmly. 

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock said, starting to get annoyed. He patted his pocket. “Just a cigarette then . . . I just need to get out of the flat.”

"Sit in the window like you do when you think I'm sleeping," he said. "You're not leaving." He pushed Sherlock gently further into the flat and away from the door. 

Sherlock had not been awake long enough to deal with this. “I don’t smoke in the flat,” he mumbled. “But if you insist, I will.” He slipped his coat off, keeping his cigarette packet with him. “Why are you being so controlling today?” he asked.

"You can't tell me you don’t know what’s been going on," John said and went back to reading.

Sherlock decided to ignore John’s little outburst. He went over to open the window and lit a cigarette. He looked down at the street. It was empty. 

When he finished his cigarette, he made a cup of tea. He brought it in and sat down across from John. “So what are we going to do tonight?” he asked.

John blinked at him. Was he joking? Or had Sherlock really been so focused on work that he’d missed everything? "Sherlock, we're in the middle of a pandemic!"

“No, we’re not, John,” Sherlock said calmly, picking up his cup of tea and taking a sip.

"Sherlock, we are. That’s why you can’t go out – we’re only supposed to go out if it’s essential," he said. 

“John, are you angry with me about something?” Sherlock said. “Is it because I slept so long?” He was already getting bored, so he stood up and walked around. He glanced out the window again, down to the street which was still empty. Unusual.

"What? No, Sherlock. I am not angry with you. I am just telling you what is going on since you seem to really not know," he said. 

Sherlock looked over. John looked serious. “When did this all happen? Today?” he asked. He was sure he’d seen people out and about yesterday. Didn’t John go out at one point? Suddenly the last five days blurred into one, and he felt like he couldn’t remember anything specific.

"No. The virus has been in the news for a while, but it’s getting worse. A few people have already died,” John explained.

"Which virus?"

"The Coronavirus. Covid-19? None of this is ringing a bell?' John asked. 

“Coronavirus? Like SARS?” Sherlock asked. “Covid-19? It’s new? Why didn’t you mention this?”

"I have mentioned it! Everyone has been talking about it all the time. But you were focused on that case and you probably don't remember. You know you do that."

“No, I don’t,” Sherlock lied. “You probably just thought about mentioning it, but then you forgot to actually mention it. You know you do that,” he added sarcastically, before getting up and moving to his laptop.

News about the virus was all over every page he clicked. How had he missed this? He grabbed his phone and sent a text to his brother.

_Why didn’t you mention this virus in any of the emails you’ve sent over the last week? SH_

A reply arrived immediately.

_I am not the British Broadcasting Company, brother. No reason to turn to me for your daily news. MH_

Why did he have to be so annoying? Clearly, he’d deliberately kept Sherlock ignorant of all this, just to keep him focused. Sherlock wasn’t convinced that was it, but his mind was going too fast and he felt confused.

_What am I supposed to do? SH_

_You heard the Prime Minister. Stay inside. Wash your hands. You can manage those two things, can’t you? MH_

Another one came quickly.

_Is John with you? MH_

_Yes. SH_

_Fine, you’ll have plenty to keep you busy. And John will keep you safe. MH_

Sherlock rolled his eyes and set the phone down next to him at the desk. He looked at John. “I don’t like this,” he said.

"No one does," John said. "But the situation is serious, so we have to do it. Stay in, wash your hands, don't touch your face, and we'll be fine. We’ve actually been safe staying in, and let’s face it, you’re an expert at social distancing."

“What about Mrs Hudson?” Sherlock said. “We have to make sure she’s all right.

"She's all right, Sherlock, we spoke yesterday when I went down to get the post. She was also shouting up to me before when you were sleeping," he said. 

Sherlock felt better about that, but he really wished he’d known all of this before right now. He still held John and/or his brother responsible for that fact, even though he knew that was entirely unreasonable.

“So what do we do now? I wish I hadn’t got up – I wish I had just slept through this whole thing,” he said.

"You'd be asleep a long time. This is going to last a while.”

Anxiety spiked through Sherlock’s stomach. “John, you’re a doctor,” he said, but realised he didn’t know where he was going with this thought. “I don’t like this,” he repeated.

"Look, we just have to get through this and if everyone does what they are supposed to do we'll be back to our normal lives in no time."

That really wasn’t all that reassuring to Sherlock, since he knew people rarely did what they were supposed to do. He wondered if John really believed they would. Probably because John was a good person who believed that other people, Sherlock included, could and would be good as well. An odd feeling came over Sherlock – it was quite childish, but he suddenly thought of John as his protector. In fact, he realised he wanted John to tell him exactly what to do and he would do it and then things could go back to normal.

But Sherlock knew that was stupid, so instead he tried to change the subject. “Have you eaten your dinner?” he asked.

"Not yet. I'm not sure what I want to make yet. Are you craving anything specific?" John asked.

“I’m not craving anything at all,” Sherlock admitted. “I just thought it might seem . . . normal.”

"Well, I'm going to make something easy, spaghetti probably. Are you okay with that?" 

“Whatever you want,” Sherlock said. He stood up to follow John into the kitchen and then suddenly said, “My mum – I should check on her.” He got out his phone and sent her a text.

_There’s a bad virus. Are you and Dad all right? SH_

_We know about the virus, Sherlock. We’re not senile or idiots. Yes, we are all right. Are you?_

Sherlock felt bad that he hadn’t called them sooner. Of course, they could’ve called him . . . he shook his head. No, that was stupid. He wasn’t a child anymore and they were the vulnerable ones now – he should’ve been paying better attention. That made him feel bad, so he went back to blaming Mycroft for deliberately distracting him.

_Call us if you need anything. Don’t go out. SH_

_We won’t. Don’t drive John insane._

Sherlock didn’t think that deserved a response, so he turned his attention back to the flat. He needed to figure out how to make this seem like any other night. “What should I do while you cook?” he asked, though that was not a question he would have asked on any other night.

John looked around the flat. "I don't know. What do you normally do?" he asked. 

“I don’t know, John,” Sherlock said. “I’ve already forgotten what normal is – well, our normal, I mean.” He closed his eyes and tried to think. “Well, normally you would probably be out on a date, so maybe that’s what’s throwing me off. You always go out when we don’t have a case.”

John grinned. "Yes well, that won't be happening for a while so you better get used to my constant company. Relax. We'll be fine."

“How can you be sure?” Sherlock asked. “We’ve not lived together that long. What if it turns out you are actually intolerable to be around you all the time?” 

"I guess we're going to find out together," John said. "But I'm sure you'd have noticed something by now if there was anything like that."

“I have noticed quite a bit, but I was prepared to accept them on a part time basis,” Sherlock said. “However, if we are going to have to be in each other’s presence 24-7 . . . “

John looked over at him. "Look, you're not a constant ray of sunshine either, so we'll see how this all goes."

Sherlock sat quietly and thought about the fact that he’d barely been up an hour yet everything was different now. “How long until we eat? I’ve not had a cup of tea yet, which doesn’t seem right, but tea and spaghetti together doesn’t sound good at all.”

"The pasta should be almost done. I don't think we have a sauce or anything though," John said. 

“What are we supposed to do for food during all this?” Sherlock asked. “I’m not worried about myself, but you . . . this isn’t going to turn into a Donner Party type thing, is it?”

"The grocery stores are considered essential and will not be closing. We can go out shopping only when it’s necessary," he said. 

“Out?” Sherlock perked up. “We’ve got no sauce for the pasta . . . that feels necessary. Should I go?”

John sighed loudly. "Sherlock, you can't claim ignorance now. You know what's happening, and you’re not like those stupid idiots who think they are invincible against it. One of us will go out if and when we have to." He got up and went to finish the food. 

“Fine, John -- you never let me do anything,” Sherlock groaned like a teenager. He probably should've been embarrassed, but all of his focus was on pretending things were normal. “I hope you’re not expecting me to start cooking as well,” he added.

"I'm not delusional," he said. "I can handle it -- you'll still have no responsibility at all."

“That’s all I ask, John,” Sherlock said, giving him a smile. He took his plate into the sitting room and turned on the television, flipping through the channels. Every channel seemed to be talking about the virus. He turned it off. “Has everything stopped being normal?” he asked.

"I don't think things are going to get back to normal for a while. It's pretty serious," John said.

“I don’t like. . .” Sherlock started, but instead of continuing he shoved a fork full of noodles into his mouth. What he wanted to say was that he didn’t like not knowing. Not knowing what would happen, not knowing what to expect. He tried everything he could to keep control, at least of the things he could control. He didn’t like not being able to control his life. He swallowed more food.

John took the remote and found a channel showing an old film. They finished their meal in silence. When the film ended, John cleaned up the dishes. He returned and said, "I think I'll go to bed."

“What am I supposed to do?” Sherlock asked stupidly.

"What do you mean?" John asked, putting away the food now.

“I’m not tired,” Sherlock said. “If you go to bed, what will I do?”

"What do you usually do when I go to bed?" 

“I don’t know,” Sherlock said because at the moment he couldn’t really remember. “I guess work, but we’ve just finished a case and have nothing new.” He looked over at John. “How are we going to work on cases if we can’t leave the flat?”

John hadn't thought of that yet and suddenly remembered the days he'd already experienced Sherlock without a case. "Well... let's hope that Greg finds us essential for cases," he said.

“Should I call him to let him know we’re staying inside?”

"No, he knows we're staying inside, Sherlock.”

Sherlock said nothing. He didn’t like this at all, which he knew he’d already said and after which John had reminded him that no one did. But the uncertainty filled Sherlock with a tension that almost made him sick. He looked over at John. “Maybe don’t go to bed just yet . . . please.”

"What are we going to do if I don't go to bed?"

“I don’t know. I’m bored,” Sherlock said, though that wasn’t quite the right word. “Can’t you come up with something interesting? You’re a very interesting person. I’ve told you that before. Are you going to make me out as a liar?”

"Oh, now I'm interesting?" John came back down the couple steps he'd taken for his room. "I refuse to play any games with you because I know you cheat, so what would you like to do?"

“You’ve always been interesting to me,” Sherlock said. He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Can’t you do something to make me forget what’s going on? I don’t like this, John, and I’m worried that I won’t be able to think about anything else,” he said softly, like a confession.

John stared at him for a moment. "Um...okay." He moved and sat next to Sherlock. "Do you want a story or something?" He felt silly even asking that.

“You mean you’re going to read to me?” Sherlock said. Maybe he should've been embarrassed, but the idea seemed kind of comforting.

"If you want me to, sure. What do you want to hear?" John asked.

Sherlock glanced over at his bookshelves. “My books don’t make very good stories,” he said. “Can you make one up?”

"I'm not good at making up stories, but I’ll try.” John settled back and thought for a moment, trying to recall a memory he could turn into a story. "One time there were two kids that really, really wanted a pet. A puppy, actually."

“Is this a children’s story?” Sherlock asked. “I’m not complaining . . . just curious.” He pulled his legs up under him on the sofa.

"Don't interrupt," John said. "So. They wanted a puppy, but their mum said no. Too much responsibility. The kids wanted to prove her wrong. But with what? And then, as luck would have it, that very night they got their answer!" John smiled as he remembered. "There was a rattling in the bin. Working together, the children caught a rat."

“A rat? I thought they wanted a dog?” Sherlock said, then he glanced over and pretended to zip his lips. But then he unzipped them and asked, “Do you care if I lie down? Maybe your story will help me fall asleep.” He zipped his lips again and turned and stretched out on the sofa, making sure his feet stayed away from John. He nodded at John to continue.

“They needed to prove they could be responsible. For three days they cared for this rat in secret. They were planning on surprising their mum, you know, to show her they could take care of another living creature. Well, sometime during the night the rat escaped and ended up eating its way through the kitchen. Mum woke up and went berserk, everyone was screaming. The rat was set free, and we were grounded for a month. Needless to say we did not get a dog. Or any pet."

“We?” Sherlock said, looking up and over at John. “Is this a true story? I thought bedtime stories were supposed to be fantastical, not realistic. I’m not sure you’re good at this.” He smiled and kicked his foot against John’s leg.

"Harry and I," John grinned. "It helped, didn't it? You wanted a story, and that's what you got."

“I suppose but I think it would have worked better if it had turned out the rat possessed magic and conjured up a spell enslaving the children and mother and the rat made the house the castle of his kingdom and lived there happily ever after,” Sherlock said. “That world sounds much better than this one. For the rat at least.” He sat up, reached behind John and grabbed a blanket to pull over him. “Okay, another one, please,” he said as he snuggled up.

"Another one?" John asked, trying not to sound exasperated. "Okay. Let me think for a minute."

“Could you make this one about a tiger, please?” Sherlock asked. “And turn out the lamp next to you,” he added, closing his eyes.

John glanced over at Sherlock and then turned off the light, so it was almost dark in the room. He shifted to get more comfortable, bringing his own feet up as well. "One time, two kids went to the zoo and while they were there, they saw a tiger." He stopped and grinned at Sherlock, waiting.

Sherlock smiled. “Were the children’s names John and Harry?” he asked.

"Hey! You've heard this before," John teased.

“Come on. Make it a good one, please.”

"Okay. Once there was a boy who liked adventures. Everyday he was running around the city with a new one, each more exciting than the last."

“I like him,” Sherlock said. “Does he have a tiger?”

"Not yet. One day he was called upon for an adventure by an evil prince, an adventure that would take him all over to different places. He was going to need a good team to help him."

“I like this one,” Sherlock mumbled.

"First he recruited a brave knight to help him with the danger."

“Are there cars in this story? I mean, is this in olden times or today?”

"It's not going to be anywhere if you keep interrupting," John said sternly. 

“Shh . . . go on with the story,” Sherlock said. He pushed his legs down against John’s.

John shifted his own legs to lie back against the sofa’s arm. "Next he recruited an intelligent wizard to help him with the more mysterious things on the mission."

“This kid sounds clever,” Sherlock said. 

“Finally he recruited a beautiful princess who revealed impressive skills valuable to the mission in a dramatic fashion."

“Like what?” Sherlock asked skeptically.

"Like shortly after the mission started, our knight sent her a body, disguised of course because a princess shouldn't see such things, but she not only figured out what it was but how they were murdered and it was with a deadly poison. Other people got killed – in fact it almost got our hero as well. She had a knack for it, seeing things like that."

“What’s the princess’s name? How come no one has names in your stories?” 

John ignored him. "Our hero went all over the city to find the killer. He went to a museum, he went to a dark alley, and he even went into a broken down warehouse with the help of the knight. But there were no more clues, and our hero was getting desperate. Someone else would die if he didn't hurry." 

Sherlock was picturing everything John said in his mind. He imagined the museum and the alley and the warehouse and all of them were very far away from any virus. He could feel his body and mind relaxing.

John tugged the blanket over his legs too. "Our hero turned to his wizard, who used a spell to help our hero's mind expand and see more clearly. Thanks to the wizard our hero knew the answer! He solved the case -- sorry, the mission -- and everyone was saved. To celebrate they went to the zoo and looked at the tigers. The end." He looked up and saw that Sherlock was almost asleep.

“Tigers,” Sherlock mumbled. He turned on his other side, pulling his knees up, pressing his feet against John’s side.

John closed his eyes. He knew he should go up to his room, but he was actually quite comfortable and didn’t want to disturb Sherlock. He dozed off right there, snoring softly within minutes.


	2. Reality Is Still There

Sherlock rolled over and stretched his legs. He was on the sofa, which wasn’t that unusual, but he wasn’t alone on the sofa. He dragged himself up and looked down at John. He tried to gingerly lift his legs over John and got up to make them some tea.

John shifted against the back of the sofa when he felt something push him slightly. He suddenly had more space, so he got comfortable and tugged the blanket a little higher.

Sherlock looked over at John, who looked quite sweet. He brought two cups of tea in and squeezed himself into his end of the sofa and whistled softly.

John shifted and automatically reached for his alarm. But the dresser wasn't within reach. He blinked his eyes open and looked around, realising he wasn’t in his room. "Oh," he murmured, shifting to get up.

“Tea’s there if you want it,” Sherlock said, nodding at his cup.

John smoothed his hair and yawned as he sat up. "I can't believe I slept on the sofa."

“We both did. Your stories put us both to sleep.”

John looked over at him. "I'm not doing that every night," he said.

“You should. You’re good at it,” Sherlock said, taking a sip of tea. “I liked the tiger one. Just don’t fall asleep yourself before you’ve finished telling tonight’s,” Sherlock said.

John shook his head. “One night was enough,” he said.

“Why?”

"Because, that’s why.” He stood up. "I'm making breakfast. Do you want anything?"

“Did I eat last night?” Sherlock said. “I can’t remember what we did. What are we doing today?”

"Probably the same stuff we did yesterday," John said. "We can't do much else."

“I prefer the world of the boy and his magical team. Let’s go back there.”

John brought some toast from the kitchen and sat back down on the sofa, turning on the news. The sound changed the room, and he glanced over at Sherlock who had obviously gone away into his mind. John turned off the telly. "Fine, we are there in that world."

“Good,” Sherlock said, focusing again. “I presume I’m the boy. Are you the wizard, the knight or the princess?”

"Which do you think?" John asked. "Guess everyone."

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked and suddenly the penny dropped. “Oh, I see, very clever. But who’s the wizard?”

“You tell me.”

“I think you’re the knight because you’re handsome,” Sherlock said. “Didn’t you say the knight was handsome?”

John flushed lightly. "No. The knight was brave. Greg is the knight," he said.

“You’re braver than he is. Molly is the princess, though I think Mrs Hudson would have a few thoughts about why she was not portrayed similarly in this story,” Sherlock said. “I suppose that leaves you as the wizard because you help me with the mysterious things all the time.”

John pointed to show that Sherlock was right. 

“Should I be worried that I’m the weakest link in this band of heroes? All the boy does is like adventures. Everyone else is great,” Sherlock pretended to be offended.

"Is that what you got out of the story?" John asked. "The hero saved the day. He chose his help and that's important."

“So I’m still the hero?” Sherlock asked, realising his question was quite childish. But that’s how bedtime stories were supposed to work. “I look forward to tonight’s adventure,” he added finishing up his tea.

"I'm not doing a story again," John insisted. 

“Fine,” Sherlock said, getting up. “I’ll do it myself. I’ll work on it all day and you’d better be as good an audience as I was last night.” He moved over to his desk.

John grinned. "I look forward to it."

Sherlock opened his laptop and browser, but the news was only about the virus. Part of him wondered why he wasn’t more interested – finally it seemed some people were paying attention to science. But he couldn’t deny that every reminder caused an anxiety to pulse through his body. He checked the angle of his computer to make sure John couldn’t see. Then he searched for a solitaire game and opened up to start playing. “I’m doing research on tigers,” he said. “For the story.”

"Oh yeah? Is that what your story is going to be about?" 

“Partly,” Sherlock said. He won his solitaire game and as the cards began to bounce around the screen, there was a noise of applause so he quickly hit the mute button. “It’s going to be a little more complicated than yours,” he said loudly. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

John looked up at the sound and watched Sherlock for a moment. "Yes, I'm sure whatever you come up with will be great."

“Okay, stop talking, I need to concentrate,” Sherlock said. He continued playing, trying to turn all his focus to the game. It was mindless, and right now Sherlock wanted to stay out of his mind. 

John hummed as he got up to put his plate away. Now he was faced with the dilemma of how he would occupy his own time for the day. He decided to start reading one of the books stacked by his chair. He’d wanted to read them all but hadn't had a chance t. He’d start with reading and then could decide from there. 

After a while, Sherlock said, “I’m going to email Lestrade,” even though there was no real reason to announce it.

Sherlock typed up an email reminding him they were still available to work and clarifying that they were confined to the flat. There was no reason Lestrade should know that Sherlock hadn’t known what was happening all along. After he sent the email, he also sent a text telling Lestrade that he had just sent an email. 

There, that was really all he could do at the moment for work. He needed another distraction. “I’m going to have a cigarette,” he said, getting up and moving to the window.

"Okay. I'm not even going to try to limit your cigarettes," he said. 

“Thank you very much,” Sherlock said. He looked down at the road which was empty. Then a man came into view. “Hey, there’s a guy down there,” he reported to John. “Should I ring the police?”

"No. He might be going to work or getting groceries," John shrugged.

“Should we go get some?” Sherlock asked.

"I don't think we need anything right now. You can start making a list though, we can go when it's full of necessary things."

“I just need to have tea and milk,” Sherlock said. “Do we have wine? Maybe we should get wine. Or whiskey. And whiskey, I mean. I might have a whiskey during tonight’s story time,” Sherlock said. “To make it more authentic.”

John chuckled and sat down again with his book. "You can do whatever you like for your story," he said.

“I will. What are you doing over there?”

"I'm reading," John said, glancing up at Sherlock by the window.

“I’m going to do that as well,” Sherlock said, even though he didn’t really feel like reading. He got up and looked over his shelf and found a book he’d started but hadn’t finished. He took it over to his chair and started to read.

After a few hours, John couldn't read another word, so he opened his laptop and went to their blog, looking through comments and sending a few replies. Then he opened a card game and started playing that until he was hungry enough to get up and start dinner.

Fortunately Sherlock had gotten sucked into his book, but the sudden movement and noise startled. “Where are you going?” he asked. 

"I'm hungry," John said. "Want anything?"

“I guess,” Sherlock said. “Make whatever you’d like, and I’ll eat some.” He marked his page and stood up and stretched. 

"It’s leftovers. Do you want me to warm some up for you?"

“I guess,” Sherlock said. He wasn’t really hungry, but eating was something to do, something to focus on. He moved over to the sofa. “Should I find us something to watch while we eat?”

"Yeah, that would be good," he said. "Whatever you want is fine with me."

Instead of flicking through channels, Sherlock got up and found a DVD. “It’s an old crime documentary – I think my mum might have given it to me a while ago. That okay?” he asked when John brought the plates in.

"That's perfect. But you're not allowed to solve it and ruin the mystery for me."

“I’ll try not to – ruin it for you, I mean,” Sherlock said. As soon as the copyright warning came up, he said, “I’ve already solved it.”

John laughed and then shushed him.

Sherlock relaxed a little onto the sofa and ate some of his noodles. The film wasn’t too bad – he hadn’t seen it before and the case was quite interesting. However, it reminded him that they might not be working for a while, and he didn’t want any reminders of what was going on. “Have you figured it out yet?” he asked John. “It’s actually more complicated that I was expecting.”

"No. I'm not trying to figure it out. I just want to be surprised," he said, glancing over at Sherlock. "I want to enjoy the ride."

“I’m not always good at that,” Sherlock said. “I like to know . . .” He put his plate on the table. 

"Maybe now you can practice since we have nothing better to do," John smiled over at him. "I'll teach you how to just be instead of having to solve everything."

Sherlock smiled back. He didn’t feel like that was possible, but he did trust John. “I’ll try.” He pulled his legs up onto the sofa, grabbing the blanket and covering his legs and turned his attention back to the documentary. When it finished, he asked, “Did you enjoy that?” 

"Yes, I liked the twist at the end," John said. He yawned even though he had no real reason to be tired.

Sherlock noticed the yawn and said, “Does that mean it’s story time?”

John wasn’t entirely sure he was serious, but asked, “How long is this story? I don't want to sleep on the sofa another night.”

“You raise a good point but obviously I’ve already considered that,” Sherlock said, getting up and picking up their plates. “I’m going to do the washing up now. I think you should go up to your room and put your pajamas on and get into bed.”

John stared at him for a moment. "And then I'll come back down? How will that help me not fall asleep on the sofa?"

“No, get into bed,” Sherlock said. “My story is a proper bedtime story, so obviously you need to be in bed.”


	3. Sherlock Takes Them to A Better Place

John narrowed his eyes but agreed. He went to the bathroom first and then up to his room to get ready for bed. He stripped down to his shorts and put a t-shirt on before lying down.

Sherlock took the plates to the sink and then went and changed into his own pajamas. He poured a glass of whiskey and headed up to John’s bedroom. “I brought whiskey, just in case one of us needs it,” he said. “Can I sit down on your bed?”

"Yes, of course."

Sherlock took a sip of whiskey and then handed it to John as he tried to get comfortable on the bed. “Should you turn the light off?” he asked.

"Is it a scary story?" John asked, taking a sip of whiskey as well and then setting it on the nightstand.

“Well, I don’t think it’s scary, but I’m the one who made it up. You’re more of a delicate nature, so if you get too frightened, just let me know,” he said, settling back. “Are you ready?”

"Delicate nature?" John scoffed. "Just start your story, please."

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy. His name was John because I have the decency to name the children in my stories unlike some other people I know,” Sherlock started. “John was a good boy and always did everything right and everyone loved him all the time because he was so great. However, even though John knew all these people, he was sometimes a little lonely. But he kept that mostly to himself.”

Sherlock shifted a little to get more comfortable. Without intending it, his voice had a quiet sound to it, and it was actually making him feel sleepy. “John kept himself quite busy doing lots of brave things and always being out and about because he didn’t like going home. He lives in a cave, I think I forgot to mention that. Anyway his cave was kind of cold and dark, so John spent most of his time running around, helping anyone and everyone because he was very good at that.” Sherlock paused. “Following so far or have you already gone to sleep?”

John peeked his eye open. "I'm listening. I don't like the sound of this cave, to be honest," he said. 

“I told you you’d get scared,” Sherlock said. He leaned over John to grab the glass and took a quick sip before setting it back down. “That’s why I brought whiskey – in case you needed courage.”

He leaned back and closed his eyes again. “One day John had just finished all these incredibly heroic things and was slowly making his way back home. He had to cut through a wooded area. It was dark – don’t get scared – but John thought he heard a noise behind a big oak tree. He froze. He heard the noise again. Who’s there? he called, but no one answered. John took a few steps and tried to peek around the tree. He could see a dark figure, bent over. It was doing something but John couldn’t tell what.”

Sherlock turned his head to look at John even though the room was dark. “Do you have any guesses?”

"Dancing?" John said, grinning as he took a sip of whiskey.

Sherlock smiled. “No, not dancing. Dissecting. John saw a boy hidden behind a tree, dissecting a bird. Do you have any idea what that boy’s name might be?”

"I'm going to take a wild guess and say Sherlock," John said.

“No,” Sherlock said. “His name is Gary. But his nickname is Sherlock, so that’s what we’ll call him. Now stop interrupting so I can continue.

“What are you doing over there? John asked the boy.

“I’m trying to understand what killed this bird, the boy answered.

“Why? John asked.

“Why not? the boy said.

“John sat down next to the boy and for some reason, the boy let John watch and didn’t even mind when John made a few comments because his comments were useful because everything John did was great, don’t forget. When Sherlock was finished, John asked him where he lived. Sherlock pointed to a cave not that far away from John’s. It was odd that John had never noticed the cave before, but he hadn’t. The boy started walking away. John followed him which for some reason didn’t bother Sherlock at all.

“When they got back to Sherlock’s cave, John noticed that it too was cold and dark but Sherlock’s cave was bigger than John’s. Sherlock went inside and made them both a cup of tea. John told Sherlock about all the brave things he’d done that day, but Sherlock didn’t have any acts of bravery to share at all.”

"I still think he seems pretty interesting,” John said. “But why is everyone in caves?"

“Because they are,” Sherlock said. “Okay, so by now, Sherlock felt pretty inadequate compared to our hero. However, before he could say anything, there was a huge rumbling at the head of the cave. Even though it was his house, Sherlock felt very afraid. John noticed this and said, Listen I have an idea. You’ve got a lot of space here, I think I’ll live here, too. Maybe you could help me with all the great things I do, and I’d be here to protect you from whatever is outside this cave.

“Sherlock couldn’t imagine doing the great things John had done, but he did kind of like the idea of his moving in because truthfully Sherlock was often afraid of things outside of his cave. Not just rumbling monsters, but other things as well. He wasn’t afraid of that dead bird, because he was able to figure out why it was dead. But there were things that he couldn’t figure out, things he couldn’t understand. And those things made him afraid.

“All right, Sherlock told John. We can share this cave. They waited until the morning light, though, to move John in. By then whatever had made the noise outside was gone.”

"Your story is ringing some bells with me," John said.

“Outrageous – I made it up, I worked all day on it,” Sherlock said. “Besides, it’s not over. After they’d moved the things into Sherlock’s cave, John said he needed to head out to be a hero for a little while. He asked Sherlock if he’d like to come. Sherlock wasn’t certain it was a good idea, but he said okay. Because for some reason Sherlock trusted John. They were still basically strangers, but he trusted him.

“So he followed John for the day. He watched John help a kid who was getting beat up by a bully. He watched him stop an attempted robbery, and he watched him save an old lady who’d had a heart attack. Watching John be so great all the time got a little tiring actually, but mostly what Sherlock felt was safe. He knew he was safe with John, no matter what.”

John closed his eyes and imagined the two of them, the way their lives were now. It was all very familiar. He smiled softly as he listened.

Sherlock had his eyes closed as well. “Once it started getting dark, John suggested they head home to the cave. The whole way back John complained about being hungry. He could not stop talking about it, which was quite annoying. Sherlock offered to cook up the bird he’d dissected, but John said no. Finally Sherlock suggested they go see a guy who could help.

“I thought you said you didn’t have any friends, John said to him. I didn’t, Sherlock said, but now that we’ve met, I have one. And this guy will have food to feed my friend."

Sherlock looked over at John to see if he was still awake. “Do you know who they’re going to see?” he whispered.

"Angelo," John said softly, starting to feel quite relaxed.

“That’s why you shouldn’t make assumptions, John,” Sherlock said. “They’re not going to see a person at all. They’re going to see a tiger that Sherlock met one day while he was out by himself in the woods. The tiger gave them some fresh meat and they went back to the cave and John cooked it over a fire and ate almost all of it except for a small bit that he let Sherlock have. I told you there was going to be a tiger in this story.”

"I don't think not sharing sounds like something John would do," he said. "And why does a tiger give them meat? Wouldn’t the tiger have just eaten them?"

“John wasn’t being selfish – Sherlock didn’t really want much of the meat. In fact, he had just the right amount,” Sherlock clarified. “And the tiger didn’t eat them because Sherlock had helped the tiger the week before. Sherlock is a good boy to know.”

"Hmm. I see. Seems like John is still learning that," John said. He sat up to take one more sip of whiskey and then lay down flat, warm and comfortable.

“Anyway, after they ate, Sherlock did the washing up and then they both did some reading and then it was time to go to bed. When they went to sleep, John dreamt about all the things they would do together the next day and for always.”

John peeked over at Sherlock and smiled. "That wasn't very scary," he said.

“Well, you’ve had a few sips of whiskey so that probably took the edge off,” Sherlock said, yawning into a little stretch. “Did you like the story?”

"Yeah, it was very good," John said.

Sherlock smiled to himself and then closed his eyes, thinking for a few minutes. “Did you understand what I was trying to tell you?” he whispered.

"I think so," John said, matching Sherlock's tone. 

“Thank you for moving into my cave and for the adventures,” Sherlock said. He reached over and rested his hand on John’s. “And for making me feel safe.”

John swallowed and glanced over at Sherlock. "You're the one with the adventures. I just tag along."

“They wouldn’t be adventures without you,” Sherlock said. He laced their fingers together and squeezed John’s hand.

John looked over at him properly, squeezing his hand back.

“Don’t get sick of me during all this, John . . . I’m worried about that because I don’t want you to ever not live here with me,” Sherlock admitted.

"I'm always going to live here with you," he said. 

“Forever?” Sherlock asked, turning on his side to face John.

John met Sherlock's gaze. "Forever," he promised.

“The news, the virus . . . it’s making me afraid,” Sherlock said, leaning in and burying his face in John’s chest.

John's breath caught in surprise, but he brought his arm up and stroked Sherlock's hair. "We'll be safe here."

“I don’t like not knowing . . . as I’m sure you’re well aware,” Sherlock said, lifting his head a little and giving John a feeble smile.

"I know. But you're not alone."

“I used to love to be alone before you,” Sherlock said, letting his arms wrap around John to pull his body closer. “What have you done to me, John Watson?”

"You're the detective," he murmured. He was still holding Sherlock's gaze, licking his lips lightly. 

“Whatever it is, it’s something I don’t understand,” Sherlock said. “Don’t forget -- I’m just the boy who likes adventures. You’re the intelligent wizard who knows all about the mysterious things.”

"We're good together," John said. "A good pair."

“We are good together -- whatever we do,” Sherlock agreed. He looked at John. “Should we do this?” he asked as he tipped his head and softly kissed John’s lips.

John felt his cheeks warm even as he nodded and leaned in to kiss Sherlock again.

Sherlock relaxed into this kiss. When it ended, he snuggled in against John and sighed as sleep started to call him. “What are the chances we can just stay in here like this until this whole thing is over?” he asked.

"I think that can be arranged," John said softly. 

“See? Everything you do is good.” 

John pulled the covers over both of them and curled into Sherlock and the warmth of his body. They drifted asleep, safe and sound at home. John dreamt about their kisses. And Sherlock dreamt about tigers.


End file.
